Rebel Page 17

  Her arm slid softly around him, one hand clasping his, one flat on the small of his back. He followed her movements, remembering their very first dance.

  “One-two-three,” he counted, smiling.

  Jennie laughed. “You don’t need that anymore.”

  Then they were waltzing, their bodies keeping rhythm without him having to think about it. He laid his cheek against hers, feeling her soft skin and the smoothness of the agate beads as her braids slid forward and back, forward and back. Like she’d said, they were cooler than her skin and his, making his breath quicken at every slide. She smelled of fresh soap and sweat, of dried rose petals and herbs, a scent he could never mistake for anyone else’s.

  Their dance slowed and slowed, until they were simply swaying in each other’s arms. When she lifted her face to his, offering him her beautiful lips, he kissed her. Fire kindled deep inside him, along with a sense of foreboding. They’d kiss for a while, and then something would go wrong—

  No.

  Jennie had taught him to dance, and they’d taught each other to fight better. She could teach him this, too. He was not going to let himself be ruled by fear.

  The kiss deepened. Jennie knew what she was doing, and Ross followed her lead. Then, emboldened by the soft noises of enjoyment she was making, he tried out nibbling, and all the things you could do with your tongue. It was like sparring, or dancing: if he only paid attention to her body, he could feel what she liked. And so long as he kept going rather than stopping, she too could learn what felt good to him.

  When she lifted her head, he knew what she was going to say. “Do you want to spend the night?”

  He gulped back a surge of panic. He had nothing to be afraid of. This was Jennie, whom he trusted with his life. And he did want to. He wanted her as desperately as he feared . . . something.

  Ross nodded. But there was something he had to ask. “Mia . . . ?”

  He couldn’t put the words together, but Jennie seemed to know what he meant.

  “She won’t be mad at you or me,” Jennie said. “It might be awkward, I don’t know. But we’ve talked about it. No one’s cheating. We’ll work it out. And you and Mia can do whatever you like, too. But I think it might go better if you’re not both experimenting for the first time.”

  Realizing how much he was relying on Jennie’s experience, Ross nodded again. He knew how nervous Mia got when she had no idea how to do something she thought she should know how to do, and he was exactly the same way. But that thought brought back all his anxiety. He didn’t know what he was doing . . .

  Jennie caught his hands in hers. “Ross? Do you want to?”

  Ross closed his eyes and breathed in Jennie’s scent. For once he’d let his body be the leader, and not his memory or mind. “Yeah. I do.”

  He barely felt his feet hitting the ground as Jennie led him to her bedroom. He felt half-dazed, half intensely aware of Jennie’s presence, her breathing, the brush of her dress against his legs. His pulse pounded in his ears.

  And then they were standing alone in her bedroom, with the door closed.

  “What do I do?” His voice came out so hoarse, he half-expected her to change her mind on the spot.

  Instead, she gave him a slow smile that told him how much she wanted him. She wasn’t doing this as a favor or a lesson. She might be experienced, but that didn’t make her own desire burn less than his. “Anything you want. If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you. But I have a feeling that whatever you do, I’ll like.”

  She took his hand and tugged him to the bed. And then she proved as good as her word.

  When he felt clumsy and awkward, she chuckled and said, “Practice makes perfect. Want to practice till we get perfect?”

  He hadn’t expected to laugh, but he did. “Let’s try.”

  And then he couldn’t think at all.

  At last they lay side by side. Exhausted, amazed, exhilarated, he realized that it was the first time he’d ever shared a bed with someone. Sleeping fully clothed out in Mia’s yard wasn’t quite the same. Then he fell into a deep sleep, holding Jennie close.

  And when he woke from a dream of Voske’s hell cells, cold with terror, Jennie was there to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and to be understanding when he had to dress and go outside in the open air, alone, and breathe.

  Chapter Thirteen: Felicité

  The disastrous Ranger ceremony wasn’t the first shock of Felicité’s day.

  A few older teenagers on the verge of graduation, who’d been released from school after lunch to do sentry duty or work their apprenticeships, had repeated Summer’s story to everyone they’d seen. Within an hour, it was all over town.

  At first Felicité hadn’t been worried. Nothing that happened in the schoolyard had ever been important to adults. But all afternoon, she heard references to Summer’s story, followed by variations on a theme: “That town is gone, all because someone powerful decided to throw out the Changed. I don’t like them myself, but I don’t want Las Anclas to go up in flames. When Tom Preston kicked out those Changed folk from Catalina, the same thing could have happened to us. That does it. I’m not voting for him.”

  After all her hard work campaigning and everything Daddy had done for the town, a ten-minute story told by a fourteen-year-old vagrant seemed to have destroyed everything.

  But a Wolfe never gave up. Felicité hurried about town, reminding everyone how Daddy had turned away King Voske’s attack, saying that Daddy had no intention of throwing out Las Anclas’s Changed folk, and pointing out that Summer was a child and a braggart who had probably made up the entire tale to get attention.

  It was all in vain. Most people ignored her, but several sharply informed her that even if Summer had made it up, they’d heard of similar things happening before. “Maybe that particular story’s not true,” Mrs. Hernandez said. “But it’s happened elsewhere. It could happen here. Liar or not, we should thank that girl for reminding us.”

  Felicité could make no dent in that illogic. After the Ranger ceremony, she turned her back on Luc’s. She had nothing to celebrate. Felicité wanted to comfort Henry after his crushing disappointment, but he’d vanished.

  Well, he knew where to find her. And she’d help him more by interceding with Daddy than by giving him useless words. She spotted him walking with Julio, who loped off toward Singles Row, leaving Daddy alone.

  “Hello, darling. Long day on the campaign trail?” Daddy said.

  Felicité quickly rehearsed her words and manner. She couldn’t sound like Mrs. Callahan or even like herself a year ago. She was almost an adult now. If she acted like one, she’d be treated like one.

  “I’ll be glad when it’s over,” she said, glancing up at his face. That line between his brows told her that she didn’t have to repeat Summer’s story or its implications for the election. He knew.

  Daddy liked people to get to the point. So she said, “How do you choose the Rangers?”

  His glasses flashed as he turned to her. His stride didn’t falter, but he slowly removed the spectacles and slid them into his shirt pocket. Her question had surprised him; he was giving himself time to think before he spoke. “You know what qualities I look for. You’ve heard me talk about it with your mother. And with Sera. Or did you have someone specific in mind?”

  In her most mature voice, she said, “I know I’m not a fighter. But I know Henry, and he hasn’t been the class clown for a long time. You saw how well he fought in the battle. And real fighting’s more important than training, isn’t it?”

  Daddy rubbed his chin. “In my experience, they go together. And I’m not as impressed with his real fighting, darling. Yes, he has the skills, and he’s brave. But I saw him disobey an order to see if the front gate line needed reinforcements. Instead, he chased after wounded soldiers who were already retreating. Based on what he’s said in training, I imagine he was trying to rack up his kill count. That’s not what I want in a Ranger.”

  Felicité found that hard t
o imagine. She’d seen plenty of people running around wildly during the battle, confused by the noise and chaos or uncertain of whether changing circumstances meant previous orders were still in effect. Most flagrantly of all, Ross had made completely unauthorized use of his secret Change power. “Maybe Henry didn’t hear the order.”

  “It’s possible.” But Daddy clearly didn’t believe it. “Regardless, he lacks discipline. How can his teammates count on him in the heat of battle if he can’t even show up for drill consistently? He’s like Will and his friends, enthusiastic in spurts. Henry’s eighteen going on eleven.”

  As they headed for home, Felicité tried not to let her disappointment show. She couldn’t argue that Henry wasn’t enthusiastic, but he’d been consistently enthusiastic about her. Why was Daddy so sure Henry wouldn’t apply himself if he was given a second chance?

  “I see,” Felicité said. “But Daddy, you must’ve thought this for a while. Why didn’t you tell me so I’d be prepared?”

  His thick eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t know it mattered to you. I realize he’s one of your flirts, and that’s fine. But that has nothing to do with the Rangers, surely?”

  “No, of course not,” Felicité said. “I just like to stay informed.”

  She liked how smooth she sounded—exactly like Mother when a council member sprang something unpleasant on her. Mother never let her true emotions show during council battles.

  Felicité let Daddy change the subject, joining him in guessing what they might find for dinner, but she fumed inside. One of your flirts. Daddy hadn’t the slightest idea how important Henry was to her. He didn’t even realize that Henry was her boyfriend, not a “flirt.”

  She couldn’t inform Daddy now, when he’d just finished telling her exactly how much he disapproved of Henry. But she saw a side of Henry that others didn’t. She had to figure out how to show it to the world.

  She was unsurprised when Henry didn’t show up for dinner—he undoubtedly didn’t want to face Daddy—and guiltily relieved. All that campaigning had given her a headache. She confessed as much, retreated to her room with a bottle of headache elixir, scrubbed herself with a barely damp towel, and went to bed.

  She woke the next morning with a sense of doom, as if she’d had a nightmare. But the day before had been all too real.

  Felicité put on one of her prettiest silk gowns, the eggshell blue that set off her mahogany hair, wrapped a darker blue scarf around her neck, topped it with a white straw hat, and tied a blue ribbon around Wu Zetian’s neck. Then she wrapped her blistered toes and set out early to campaign before school.

  No one even responded to her arguments. The best she got was a fake compliment or two on her dress. She thought of her own praise as the sweet clinking of golden coins, but the words she received clunked like the iron junk in Mia’s yard. And then everyone pointedly waited for her to go out of earshot before they returned to their conversations.

  The sun was barely out, and she already had a headache. At the schoolyard, she caught Henry’s eye as he practiced archery. His smile was sincere. But everyone else was clustered around a small figure on the porch, their voices rising shrill and excited.

  Summer, Felicité thought grimly.

  Then she saw who everyone was squealing over. Felicité gasped with surprise, then with joy. “Grandmère!”

  The last time she’d seen her grandmother had been after the battle, the tiny old woman exhausted with the effort of defending the gates with her fire powers.

  Guilt clutched at Felicité’s heart. She easily could have visited her grandmother in the fireproof adobe home outside the gates that she’d exiled herself to until she could control the power she’d gained with menopause. Her mother had gone every week. But Felicité had always found an excuse. She couldn’t bear the thought of being present if Grandmère had a hot flash and was forced to rush outside to throw a fireball into the desert sand. Felicité wanted to remember Grandmère as an elegant, controlled Norm.

  Now she had Grandmère back, and she appeared as she’d been when she’d presided over the Wolfe house and taught in the schoolhouse, exquisitely dressed and poised. Her white hair was upswept and pinned with iridescent abalone combs, and she wore black silk pants and a blue silk coat with embroidered crimson phoenixes swooping around its frog closures.

  “Yes, I’m back,” Grandmère said, opening her arms with a smile.

  Henry joined the crowd, saying in a mock-solemn voice, “Grandma Wolfe, will you be setting any fires? I just want to be prepared.” He jerked his thumb at the water pump. “Shall I get a bucket?”

  Some little kids snickered. Felicité glared at him. That was exactly the sort of joke that had kept him out of the Rangers.

  Henry, catching sight of her, looked contrite. “Sorry. Just kidding!”

  “It is a fair question,” Grandmère said seriously. “However, you will be glad to hear that I have complete control of my powers now. And if Jennie says I may, I might even pop some corn for you later in the week.”

  Felicité pulled her scarf tight, choking back her disgust. Surely now that Grandmère had learned to control her power, she’d do the right thing and never use it.

  Jennie threw open the schoolroom door. “Grandma Wolfe!”

  “Hello, Jennie,” Grandmère said, smiling.

  “Would you like to come in and see how we’re doing?” Jennie asked.

  “Perhaps another time, dear,” Grandmère said. “I just stopped by to say hello. And to pick up my granddaughter, if she may be excused for the morning.”

  “Of course,” Jennie said in that annoyingly superior teacher voice of hers, as if she were twenty years older than Felicité instead of barely one. “She’s about to graduate anyway.” She said it as if she couldn’t wait.

  Then Jennie’s smugness slipped. As uncertainly as a child, she added, “You have complete control of your powers? Are you moving back to town?”

  Felicité could barely control her glee as she realized what that meant. Jennie was about to get booted out of her job—for the second time! She’d have to go hunting for an apprenticeship at a humiliatingly old age.

  “Yes, and yes. But I have no intention of taking your job away,” Grandmère assured Jennie. “I have other plans.”

  To Felicité’s surprise, a flash of disappointment tightened Jennie’s face. Was she satisfied with nothing? Again with uncharacteristic awkwardness, Jennie said, “Oh.”

  Grandmère smiled at Henry. “I have not forgotten you, Henry. Would you care to join us at dinner this evening? My house at six?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Henry grinned at Grandmère, then Felicité. Maybe he wasn’t taking his rejection from the Rangers as hard as Felicité had thought.

  Grandmère petted Wu Zetian, who reacted excitedly—her poor pet, she must feel so snubbed by the town that used to love her—then placed her hand on Felicité’s arm. They left the schoolyard, Felicité gladly thinking, Soon it will be for the last time.

  “It’s so good to see you again, dear. And I am so glad to see you developing your own style. Though perhaps fewer accouterments, charming as they are, would suit you even better.” Grandmère indicated Felicité’s scarf. “Sometimes less is more.”

  Felicité clutched at her neck. Rainclouds were passing in the north. The scarf would cover her gills if she got wet. It was the only thing that ensured that Daddy would never see . . . “No!”

  Her grandmother gave her a puzzled look.

  Felicité hastily recovered her smooth mayor’s voice. “People know I like scarves, so I often get them as gifts. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by not wearing them. But you’re right. My dress has too much embroidery to go with this one.”

  Grandmère patted her hand. “It is a touch formal for school. Oh, darling, I’ve missed you.” She hugged Felicité tight. “I know who prevented you from coming to see me, as I’m sure you wanted.”

  Felicité winced inwardly. Grandmère and Daddy had never gotten along,
even before her Change, but Daddy hadn’t said a word against Felicité visiting. But since she had no better excuse, she let it slide.

  “But perhaps it’s as well to let matters rest,” Grandmère went on. “I’m back, and looking forward to taking up my life again—a new life. Walk with me to the council office, where I am officially registering my candidacy.”

  “Candidacy?” Felicité repeated blankly.

  “Yes. Now that Judge Vardam is retiring from the council, I am going to throw my hat into the ring and run for the council seat.”

  “But you . . .” Felicité shut her mouth on the word ‘can’t.’

  Grandmère laughed. “Why not? I am very well qualified. I served on the council for years, and I loved it. I only retired when your father became sheriff. It seemed inappropriate to have three family members with four votes.”

  Felicité knew that. But things were different now. There were already two Changed people on the council—the most there had ever been in her life. And neither Sheriff Crow nor Dr. Lee’s seats were up for election. If Grandmère was elected, that would make three. Even if she always voted with the family, Felicité was sure Daddy would think it set a bad precedent.

  “Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll win,” Felicité said, though secretly relieved that she couldn’t possibly. No one could with only two days to campaign, not even Grandmère. “I’m glad you invited Henry to dinner. Did you know we’re dating?”

  “Yes, darling,” Grandmère replied. “Henry seems to have grown up a great deal. He looked quite fierce in the battle. But I only caught a glimpse of him while I was running for the front gates. Even then, I wasn’t sure I would be able to produce enough fire to make a difference. But all my practice paid off.”

  Felicité was horrified. Would Grandmère never stop talking about her Change power? How could she live with Daddy if she was going to go on like this?